What It Means To Heal
by Dragon the Shero
Summary: Meet Megan. She's not fiesty, strong-willed, or tough by any means. She doesn't dream of being a warrior or a princess. No - Megan wants to be a healer, a saver of lives. Circumstance gives her a chance to work her magic, but will she regret it? Or w


To Heal

**Chapter 1: An Introduction**

By Dragon G Stone

**Disclaimer:** World and various characters are dutifully credited to Tammy Pierce.

**Chapter Rating:** PG-13 - mostly for a swear word or two. Introduction stuff. I am already in love with my character, but she's a clean gal insofar. I'm working on that.

**Other Important Stuff**: Sorry for typos and other things that don't make sense. I've only edited it once to refrain from completely deleting it. Since I am not very confident in my writing abilities, I apologize in advance if this story bores or irritates you in the slightest! Critique is not welcomed with open arms, but if it is polite critique then it is welcomed.

Megan patiently cleaned the young child's wound. Children from down the street were always showing up at her mother's door when they hurt themselves. Unless the wound or illness was severe, her mother usually directed the children Megan's way. Running an apothecary was demanding work, as her mother saw fit to remind her almost daily, and she had no time to nurse the little rascals herself.

In any case, Megan was more than happy to do it. Children were often amusing company and the smiles they gave her after the favor warmed her heart. Her charge was wiggling impatiently in his chair, ready to get back to playing with his street cronies.

"All done, sir," she smiled disarmingly and took a step to the side.

He hopped off the stool and touched a hand to the bandage on his upper arm. Megan was sure he was contemplating how large his battle scar would be. _Not very large_, Megan thought. It was a small scrape that would heal over in a day or two. She did not even bother using her Gift on it. Suddenly, remembering his manners, he cracked a large smile, "Thanks, miss! I 'preciate it!" He dug in his pockets and pulled out two coins. He offered them to Megan.

Megan shook her head and led him to the door. He either worked for those coins or stole them from some careless noble's purse. In any case, she had no desire to take any money away from him. Money was rather hard to come by for many city folk. This kid looked like he bore the brunt of poverty, whereas she was much more fortunate. The apothecary shop had always brought in enough money for her family. She didn't need his money and he didn't argue.

Megan joined her mother, who was gossiping with a regular costumer, behind the counter. "...it's those damn lady knights, Anne. They always be stirring up trouble! Always bringing shame to the Tortallan throne. Did you hear about the appalling thing that Queenscove girl did last week?"

"No. Do tell!" her mother leaned into the conversation with an eager, hungry look on her face. From the twisted sneer on her face it was rather clear that Megan's mother despised warrior women. She thought it disgraceful those women were teaching young ladies to be forward and unladylike, turning away any suitable prospects for marriage.

Megan was not quite sure how she felt on the subject of women warriors. Mostly she was indifferent. It didn't affect her personally, so she felt it was none of her business what other women chose to do with their lives. No one was forcing her or any other woman onto the battlefield, so what right did she have to object?

Finally, the customer saw herself out the door. Anne turned to her daughter with a scowl. "You ain't stupid enough to turn out like them troublesome lady pages an' Riders, are you, sweet?"

"No, mum," Megan agreed quietly. That fighting business did not appeal to Megan at all. Why would a person want to do all that grueling training just to go off and slaughter a countless number of humans, just or not, while risking their own life? Megan had decided long ago that she had neither the stomach nor the heart for it. She preferred healing wounds, not creating them. Though she would be quite reluctant to join the ranks, and did not understand why anyone would want to, she was quite glad that there were people who did.

Anne slid a firm hand under her daughter's chin. She turned Megan's head left, then right, and then their eyes came to meet again. Anne released her daughter without a word and went to the back room to review her lists once again. Megan sighed at her mother's vanity. Or perhaps it wasn't vanity - just business. A good husband for Megan was a major priority in the woman's life.

Anne periodically surveyed her daughter's face and figure, as if in the hopes that her daughter might have gotten prettier without her looking. In hopes that she would one day become a magnet for handsome, well-off Tortallan boys.

Megan was not a hideous girl, but she was no great beauty either. She was a petite, thin girl with little curve to her at all. Anne always sighed over her daughter's small chest and thin hips. Pregnancy would increase her breast size, but there was little one could do with thin hips other than suffer through childbearing. If she could ever attract a husband her father found suitable, that is.

Anne found her hair to be the most attractive feature on the girl, for Megan's facial features were tiny and plain and her eyes were a non-descript gray. But her hair...her hair was a deep chestnut brown often streaked by the sun. Sleek, light, soft - something a person yearned to reach out and stroke gently. It was waist-length and for all it's beauty Megan found it most practical to constrain it in a tight braid or bun.

Megan sighed inwardly and plopped herself down near the window watching life unfold on the busy street outside. She contemplated begging her mother to send her on some errand, but no begging was necessary. Her mother came trundling out, handing her two slips of paper.

"These are the directions to the rape refuge," Anne said, handing her one sheet. She handed her the second sheet and continued, "And this is the medicines you'll be taking along."

Megan loved and hated the refuge. She loved the opportunities it gave her to heal, but some of the things she had seen there hurt her heart. Delivering herbs to the refuge was not exactly an option. She was required to take the herbs to any close destination her mother ordered her to. But it was for both her love and her hate of the place that she came back every time with the intention of making a difference there.

She hurried to do as her mother bid. She went behind the counter and pulled out several glass vials, bottles, jars.

The refuge sent in requests almost weekly for needed herbs or spices. She bottled various amounts of chamomile, comfrey, sage, thyme, willow bark, rosemary, Echinacea, featherfew, hawthorn, and nettle. There were a few more exotic imports on the list, not all of which were stocked much to Megan's chagrin.

She gently placed the bottles in the basket and took up a quick, sure stride towards the refuge. It was only a few streets away and Megan visited regularly which contented her. If she was lucky, some refuge nurse with whom she was familiar would put her to work healing wounds with either herbal remedies or her Gift.


End file.
